


The Cuddlist

by Lil_Redhead



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Captain Swan - Freeform, Cuddlist!AU, F/M, ProfessionalCuddling!AU, Some brief descriptions of anxiety
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-02
Updated: 2017-06-13
Packaged: 2018-08-19 01:33:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8183978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lil_Redhead/pseuds/Lil_Redhead
Summary: ProfessionalCuddling!AU. Maybe going to a professional snuggler was the craziest idea Emma ever had, but it certainly wasn’t her worst. In fact, weekly cuddling with Killian Jones could’ve been the best decision she ever made.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I was really excited when I thought of this idea, and I don't know for sure if it has ever been done before. If it hasn't, hurray! Enjoy! Please note that there are some very very subtle mentions of Neal being a bit forceful and some less subtle descriptions of borderline anxiety.

Emma loved her mother, she really did, but Mary Margaret had to be the only person in the world who asked someone for a birthday wish list and then chose to completely ignore it. The list had been small. A fuzzy fleece blanket, some of those fancy scented candles, or maybe some hot chocolate in bulk with mini marshmallows. 

“So, basically you just want some stuff to help you relax?” her mom asked slowly, peering down at the list in her hands. 

“Nothing big,” Emma clarified. “Just some autumn necessities.” 

Six sessions with a professional cuddler - a  _ cuddlist,  _ Emma remembered with an eyeroll - was not exactly what she would consider an autumn necessity. Or a necessity in general, for that matter. 

“I just thought that since it’s been such a long time since you’ve seen anyone. Not since...” Emma also could’ve her entire life without hearing her mother hinting at her nasty breakup with Neal Cassidy. “I read online that human touch can help with dopamine release and help you relax! Isn’t that what you wanted?” 

A blanket and some candles was what she wanted! Not having to pay eighty dollars an hour so some strange man could try to take advantage of the situation. Emma glanced down at the gift certificate and saw that Mary Margaret had spent more than four hundred dollars, and as much as she hated the gift, she didn’t want to seem ungrateful. 

“It’s perfect, Mom. Thanks.”  

The dread in Emma only got heavier as a grin split across her mom’s face. 

“Great! Because your first appointment is tomorrow!”

*

**Session One.**

Apparently the guy was the best “The Snuggle Buddies” had to offer.  In the time between receiving the news of her first appointment and the actual consultation, Emma intended to use every resource she had as a bail bondsperson to see just who exactly this  _ Killian Jones  _ was. 

But everyone that reviewed him, men and women, said that being held by this snuggler was one of the most revitalizing experiences they ever had. How great could he possibly be? All he did was lay there and exist. 

It was pure curiosity that had her driving to his apartment and knocking on his door, pepper spray ready in her purse, the incall snuggle session only minutes away. 

The man that opened the door was not the man she’d seen in the pictures. Okay, it was, but the Killian Jones in front of her had more stubble than she’d anticipated, and she almost preferred it. He stood only a few inches taller than her, and seemed just as intrigued to be seeing her as she was about meeting him. 

“Ms. Swan?” he asked. His English accent made her name lilt on his tongue, causing a small smile to rise on her face. 

“That’s me.” She shifted on her feet, waiting for him to begin his spiel on how this was going to work, but it was silent. Under the gaze of his star glittery ocean eyes, Emma began to feel unsure if this was a good idea after all. “Mr.  Jones?”

Killian blinked a few times, as if to ground himself back to earth. An embarrassed chuckle resonated from his parted lips, a finger coming up to scratch behind his ear.

“Ah, yes. Apologies, I tend to be a bit shy with new clients. Welcome to my home. Won’t you come in?” 

Emma nodded, trailing behind as he led her into what was probably the cleanest apartment she’d ever seen. She had a feeling that it wasn’t just the influx of strangers that gave him the initiative to stay tidy. It had yet to be decided for sure, but Emma could not help but relax at the gut feeling telling her this man was well-rounded and trustworthy. 

“It’s not much, but it’s comfortable,” Killian commented conversationally. 

“I’d say as far as bachelor pads go, this is toward the top of the scale.” This earned another chuckle from Killian, a sound that Emma could see herself growing used to. 

“I appreciate the kind words.” He gestured to the couch across from him where she could sit. “If you’d like, we can get started.”

Feeling the performance anxiety coursing through her, Emma ran her hands over her knees and nodded. 

“Ms. Swan-”

“Emma,” she corrected, voice a bit shaky. 

“ _ Emma,”  _ Killian corrected. “It’s normal to be nervous, but I assure you, you’re entirely safe here. You’ve nothing to be worried about. This thing runs off of consent, and if at any point you get uncomfortable, it’s always alright to change your mind.”   


She was half relieved to hear consent openly acknowledged, and half even more cautious at the thought of actually putting her trust in this man. After Neal, and then Walsh... It would take some time before Emma could truly drop her guard. 

“There are some things we should discuss,” Killian stated gently, crossing his hands across his lap. 

Emma nodded along as he laid out the ground rules. No sex of any kind, including any inappropriate touching and exchange in saliva. 

“General kisses are alright, I get them all the time,” Killian muttered with a smile. “It’s a good way to release some pent up affection. There are worse things than getting cheek and forehead kisses.”

The session would thrive off of communication, and lack thereof could be absolutely detrimental to the experience for both of them. 

“You can leave any time you like, and can rest assured that I maintain absolute confidentiality,” he concluded. 

“I should probably tell you something too,” Emma said, closing her own hands together. “My mother made this appointment as my birthday present, and I’ve never considered something like this even existed. I’m not the greatest at,” she paused, gesturing awkwardly with her hands, “opening up, I guess.” 

Warmth flooded over Killian’s face like a wave slowly crashing onto the shore. “That’s quite alright, Swan. I wasn’t for a long time, either.”

She watched as Killian reached beneath his couch and dragged out a fluffy beanbag mattress. It was a light teal in color, and looked more comfortable than most thing she’d seen. Like he’d probably done a hundred times before, Killian settled onto it with a  _ plop  _ and patted the spot beside him for her to join. 

There was moment when her eyes met his and she could tell, he knew. It wasn’t just the opening up that she had trouble with. It was the functioning in social situations in general. It was tearing stronghold walls down around people that weren’t predictable to her. 

“Try something new, Emma. It’s called trust,” Killian said gently. “I’ve been doing this for almost three years now. You couldn’t be in better hands.”  Emma heard herself scoff.

“That’s exactly what I’m worried about.” 

His eyebrow hitched. He looked comfortable with his legs crossed in front of him, cotton sweatpants sinking into the marshy cushion beneath him. 

As if walking on glass, Emma rose off the couch and lowered onto her knees in front of him. They sat at eye level with each other, waiting for the other to speak. 

“It’s best if you start and create the boundaries,” Killian murmured, voice low to keep the atmosphere between them calm and collected. 

“I don’t know how to start,” she whispered, almost sounding a bit annoyed. Killian considered this, looking around a little before looking back at her. 

“How about we start off small, and work our way up. Feel free to stop me at any time.” 

Nodding in agreement, Emma shifted closer to him, trying to keep an open mind. 

Her mind was screaming that she just end the session now, pay for the man’s time, and never  _ ever  _ come back. This broke the scale for “Too Insane.” Here she was, on some bean bag with a man she didn’t know, just because her mother read that it was a good idea on the internet. Where had her logic gone, dammit!?

Killian extended his hands, nodding slightly in encouragement. Attempting - and failing - to hide the tremor in her palms, Emma allowed him to wrapped his fingers around hers. Their fingers linked together just enough that she knew he was there, but were loose enough that she could pull away at any moment. His thumbs ran gentle across her knuckles, a featherlight feeling that Emma was desperately trying not to enjoy. 

With tentative, cautious movements, Killian began to tug her hands around his waist, letting go halfway so Emma could decide how tightly she wanted to grasp him. A sick feeling settled in her stomach, growing with each increasing heartbeat.

The more he enclosed around her, the more claustrophobic she felt. The second she felt his own arms wrap across her back, she jerked back, catching herself on her palms. Killian shifted back a little too. He wasn’t hurt, or even surprised, but he did seem to be a little worried. 

“I’m sorry,” he said sincerely. “Perhaps that was too much to start with?” 

Emma didn’t meet his eyes. She tried to even out her breathing by taking low inhales, feeling the oxygen fill her lungs. 

“I should go,” Emma said through a trembling lip. She couldn’t hide the hitch in her voice, or the way her eyes were still blown in something that neighbored fear. 

“Wait,” Killian called out as she began to rise away. Emma paused, her gaze lingering on him like she expected him to lash out. It wouldn’t be the first time a man had used force to try to make her stay. “I have a proposition for you.” 

Against her better judgement, Emma crossed her arms and said, “I’m listening.” 

“Stay. I won’t charge you for today because I screwed it all up, but I’d like to show you that you do have a safe place you can come. We don’t have to cuddle or whatever. We can just sit around and be friends.”  

The same absurd part of her mind that convinced her to show up in the first place actually considered the idea. 

“You can still leave if you want,” he added hastily. His eyes pleaded, his voice begged, his entire being reaching out for her. “But I know you. You don’t have anyone to really talk to, and it eats you up.”    
“How could you possibly know that?” she snapped back. Who was this guy? If this was some act to get her to stay, make her come back...if he tried  _ anything  _ suspicious she was going to reach right into that purse of hers and use that mace all over his pretty face. 

“Because I was you. I was closed off, and lonely. I’d been hurt over and over again, and abandoned.” The last word made her snap her head in his direction. 

“Why are you telling me this?” 

“Because I’m not that man anymore, but I remember what it’s like, and I want to help give you an opportunity to have a safe haven.”

Emma shifted her weight, eyes dropping to the ground. She hated how right he was. If he was telling the truth - and her superpower told her he was - then he had stared at every single one of her walls and torn them down, brick by brick, just to get under her skin. 

“I don’t need a safe haven,” she said, trying to replace the fallen bricks and rebuild her walls. 

“If you really believe that, then go ahead, leave. But I think this could be good, for both of us.” 

With raised hands in defeat, Emma sighed. The fight wasn’t in her anymore. For now, her walls had been torn down and any energy to build them up had gone down the drain. 

“Then what do you suggest, Oh Master Cuddler?” 

Killian reached behind him and grabbed one of his throw pillows, wrapping his arms around it.    
“It’s your freebie. We can talk, play board games, dance around. I hear I have a good reading voice.” He thought for a second longer, then added with a shrug, “I play guitar.” 

Emma shifted back onto the other couch, stretching her legs out. 

“Think you can play for me for a while?” she said, taking hold of her own pillow and stuffing it behind her head. 

“I believe I can manage that,” he replied, trying not to sound too excited. 

For the next forty minutes, Emma watched with glazed eyes as Killian’s fingers moved skillfully across the neck of the guitar and plucked at the strings. At one point, she closed her eyes and allowed herself to feel the music. 

She liked this, having some space, but still being  _ with  _ someone. His music seemed to tell her story - their story? - and it was a bit overwhelming to know that someone understood her well enough to translate her own feelings into music. 

When it was over, Killian let the last notes resonate in the air, before lifting himself up and escorting her politely to his door. 

“It was nice meeting you Emma. I do hope you decide to come back. I’d be happy to play for you any time.” 

Emma felt her cheeks blush at the genuinity in his voice, a sort of warmth that spread throughout her body and made her nerves tingle in delight. 

“I’ll think about it.” 

*

Oh, she thought about it.  She thought about it every possible free moment, and even every moment that wasn’t free. She felt his concern for her weaken her structure, leaving her with the desire to lean into someone for support. She could still hear the gentle harmonies of his music blending in the air, the soft lullaby of a lost girl. 

So she went back. This time when he played for her, she sang along a little bit to the songs she knew. This time she paid him. 

The third time Emma went back, she brought with her the game Guess Who. They sat at his dining room table with steaming mugs of hot chocolate and cinnamon (per Emma’s request) and, challenged each other in friendly duels to see who could win the fastest. 

By session four, they were laid back on the floor with their backs to the bottom of the couch watching cheesy movies from the seventies. During the boring scenes, Killian asked Emma about what she did for a living. He laughed when she found out she was a bail bondsperson, unsurprised nonetheless, and linked their arms together so she could lean her head on his shoulder. 

*

**Session Five.**

“What will it be today, Swan? Some good old eighties serenades or perhaps shall I crush you in another round of Guess Who?” 

Emma scoffed, collapsing on the same familiar couch. Only a handful hours spent in each other’s company felt more like a handful of weeks, but the weekly routine had brought some sunshine back into her life. When her mother asked her improved mood had been because of the sessions with Killian Jones, Emma shrugged, but deep down she knew that she was anxiously awaiting the next time she could go and see him. 

“I don’t know, I don’t care. I’m too exhausted to even think,” she said, covering her eyes with her arms. She extended her legs across the couch, letting the stretch soothe her aching muscles. “Got any tricks up your sleeves?” 

“I’ve many tricks up my sleeves, lass. You’re talking to a professional here.” 

Killian lifted her legs up for just a moment, and then settled down beneath them, resting her feet across his knees. 

“This is something I do often for other clients, but as always, stop me if you’d like.” 

For some reason, Emma didn’t entirely love when he spoke of other clients. Maybe she was being selfish. Maybe she wanted this new budding friendship to belong solely to her. Sure, she could tell she was growing to be important to him, but it was probably the same for every client. 

“Just don’t kick me in the face,” he joked, lifting one of her feet into his hands. Emma chuckled, letting her head fall to the side so she could watch him. 

“Don’t give me reason to,” she joked back. 

He began working the muscles in her feet, applying varied pressure in places that were tighter than others. To mix things up, he sometimes ran his fingertips over the sensitive skin of her feet, causing goosebumps to erupt on her leg. 

“Someone’s ticklish,” he commented in a murmur. Emma nudged him with her toe.

“Don’t get any ideas, mister.” 

Emma could tell he knew exactly how relaxed his handiwork was making her feel. Killian was incredibly receptive to each of her responses. The way her lips pulled up in a small smile when something felt sparkly and ticklish. Her slow relaxed breathing as he worked away all the tension. 

“Why’s a lovely woman like you so lonely?” he asked quietly, when he was sure he had worked down the main parts of her walls. Killian had worked down her entire resolve. Any urge she would’ve felt to run normally was completely absent. 

“A man,” she stated in the same low tone. Opening her eyes, she stared at his ceiling fan as it circled above her. “A man who said he loved me and then left me to rot for what he’d done.”

“That’s awful, love.” He was holding back his disgust, like being abandoned was something he could relate to. As his hands began gentle pulls on her calves down to her ankles, Killian continued. “There’s more, isn’t there?” 

“There is,” but that was all she said. She couldn’t admit that she had been an orphan most of her life. Not yet. 

“Well, if you ever want to talk, you know where to find me.” And he meant it. She wasn’t just another one of his clients. She was valuable to him. 

Emma felt her heart clench in something that ached bittersweet in her chest. The longer she  held his gaze, the stronger the feeling was. 

Suddenly, she was reaching forward and grabbing his hands from her legs. His eyebrow rose, the same way it always did when he was intrigued, and she pulled him from the couch onto the large bean bag on the floor. 

Killian knew exactly what she wanted in an instant, thanks to years of experience. He pulled a pillow from the couch and laid back completely, a blank canvas for Emma to mold into. 

That’s exactly what she did. Unlike the first day, Emma felt safe letting herself  _ be  _ with Killian. With every moment she inched closer to him, Emma reminded herself that this -  _ cuddling  _ \- was what he did for a living, it was what he specialized in. She could trust him, or at least, she hoped she could. Though she had to admit, she felt a little foolish. 

“It’s alright, Emma. I’m not going to judge you for wanting to be held.” 

So she pulled herself up beside him, resting her chin on his shoulder. Giving a playful sigh of impatience, Killian situated them so that she was flush up against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, one at her waist, the other at her shoulder. They were almost as close together as they could possibly be, and it was absolutely relaxing. Neal had never held her this closely, as if she were treasure. 

“Is this alright?” he mumbled into her hair. She hummed in response, smiling into his chest. “Why don’t you get some rest then. I’ll wake you up in time to get back to work.” 

Emma was powerless to refuse. Within minutes she had fallen asleep to the feeling of Killian’s breath on her neck, his fingers running down her arms and spine, and his low voice humming an unfamiliar song that reminded her of late ocean moonlight. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a very brief, non-explicit description of one of Killian's clients pushing personal boundaries. It's a very short moment, but I wanted to give someone warning anyways.

**Session Six**

Emma Swan was Killian’s favorite appointment. His magnetic refrigerator calendar - a sailing themed one - had all his clients and the times they would arrive printed in his flourished cursive with black ink. Swan’s name had been written in a light blue color slightly larger than the rest of the things he’d written on his schedule.

It was the one thing he looked forward to. Emma Swan. Every Wednesday. Noon to one in the afternoon. His midweek break.

Don’t get him wrong, he loved every - well, _most_ \- of his clients, and he loved his job even more. He’d seen so much change in so many people, it was hard to not become addicted to the warm feeling he got from giving therapy.

It was just that Killian wished he liked all his clients as much as he liked spending time with Emma, but not of all of them could be as great as her. She didn’t know, but in the time he had met her six weeks ago, he had turned several people down for a second or third appointment. It was one of the few downsides to his job. Some people wanted more than a friendly presence.

And he had decided years ago, without question and without much thought, he was not going to be a _male_ _escort,_ contrary to what some people expected from him.

Take for example the woman in his arms, who was one such person. Cora Mills. One of his older clients, Killian knew that she had acquired quite the sum of money from a strange marriage to a younger CEO. It was the only time someone had abused his confidentiality policy to allow for their cheating habits. Because sure, the touches were platonic on his end, but the way she tried to feel all over him made him squirm.

Especially the way her hand was trailing up his thigh. Killian felt a wave of nausea flood over him. He caught her hand before it could travel too far up, and clutched it into his chest.

“Boundaries, love,” he reminded in his most professional cuddlist voice.

“To have fun, one must push boundaries, darling,” she replied, sickly sweet in his ear. She tore her hand from his grasp and moved to continue her search along his thigh, but Killian jolted back.

“Cora, I’ve asked you more than once,” he said sharply. He spun away, standing up and putting distance between them. “And I shouldn’t have to. I’m afraid I have to ask you to leave.” 

“I paid for an hour.”  Killian glanced at the clock, relaxing just an ounce to see it was 11:59am.

“And an hour you got, ma’am.”

Just as Cora opened her mouth to argue, at which point Killian planned to call the police, a steady knock resounded throughout the room from the front door. He could have cried in relief. Emma Swan truly was a savior.

“It’s open!” Killian called, before Cora could intervene.

Emma came tumbling into the room, as radiant as the sun peering behind the fall leaves. She wore a white turtleneck sweater tucked into a burgundy skirt, the personification of autumn spirit. She smiled as soon as she saw him, leaving a warm feeling in his chest, but paused as she caught sight of Cora.

“Did I interrupt?” she asked, glancing down at her watch. Killian shook his head, trying to show just how thankful he was in his heavy stare. Her smile twitched, a minute sign that told Killian she caught how perturbed he was.

“Not at all, love,” he answered. “Miss Mills and I were just finishing up.” Both women in the room could tell his tone meant _finishing up for good._

Like a tempered child pouting, Cora slipped her shiny black heels on, grabbed her wool jacket, then clacked across the room toward the door.

“If he refused _me,_ don’t expect him to keep you for very long,” he heard the woman murmur to Emma, but the door had slammed behind her before Killian could voice just how very wrong she was. He planned on keeping Emma around for quite some time if he could, thank you very much.

But just having the woman gone was enough to make Killian’s pulse slow down and his hands stop trembling. Emma was by his side at a second, a comforting hand on his arm. He closed his eyes and focused on steadying his breathing. A hand come up to cover Emma’s on his arm, offering a gentle squeeze.

“Are you okay now?” she asked.

“Aye, love. You have immaculate timing,” he replied, voice hitching on the tightness winding in his throat.  Emma dropped her hand to give him some space, but the loss of contact made Killian’s nerves thrill under his skin.

“Though perhaps we should reschedule. I’m afraid I’m in no condition to give you what you paid for.”

It was unclear just what she was thinking as she held him in a scrutinized gaze. He felt frozen to the floor, knowing that if she showed even the slightest sign of disappointment, he would take it all back within an instant.  

There was no disappointment in her eyes. There was only something akin to understanding, and a fiery bite of rage that she seemed to have held back by a single thread.

“Give me your phone,” she demanded gently. Killian’s hand immediately reached toward his back pocket, but then he hesitated.

“Why?”

“Just hand it over, Jones. Weren’t you the one who taught me about this whole trust thing?” It was enough for him to comply, and within moments, she was pattering away at the screen with furrowed eyebrows.

“You said her name was Mills?” she continued, fingers scrolling up through a list. “Cora Mills, there she is. And...number blocked. She won’t be able to call you again.”

Emma paused, waiting for him to respond. As Killian took back his phone, his mouth was locked in a gape, searching for some way to answer. All words had escaped him. There was nothing but this woman before him, so stable and sure. 

“I was going to-” he finally tried to defend.

“No, you probably would’ve thought about blocking her number and then let her call you back, only to forgive her and rinse and repeat whatever happened in here today. She’s not worth the anxiety, Killian.”

His pointer finger found the spot behind his ear that prickled when he was nervous. Of course Emma would understand. Other people in the past had criticized him whenever something like this had happened, subtly claiming that it was his fault for putting himself in such an intimate profession. He was wise enough to know that it was never his fault, but it never made it less horrible when it did happen.

When he looked up from the floor, Emma was lounging across his couch with a massive chinese menu in one hand with the other dialing a number.

“What are you doing?” Killian asked. “And where did you get that?”

“Ordering lunch.  I never leave the house without a take-out menu,” she replied, as if it were obvious. Killian sauntered over to her, pulling her phone and menu from her hands just as she finished dialing the number.

“Darling, I told you. I can’t today.” Killian began to fold the expansive menu, but Emma plucked it back just as quickly. 

“Look, I’m ordering you lunch, sticking around to make sure you let me pay for it, and then I’ll be out of your hair,” she explained casually. His incredulous stare prompted her to add one last clarification. “You spend every day pampering people, but you never have time to let anyone pamper you. I’m not here as a client, I’m here as a friend.”

A warm rush spread through Killian. Her presence seemed to brighten the room in a way that was almost therapeutic. He considered all his clients his friends to eliminate the awkwardness of holding a complete stranger, but it wasn’t often the other person reciprocated.  

He suddenly became aware of something: there was nothing he liked more than being Emma Swan’s genuine, bona fide friend.  

Within the hour, they were sitting shoulder to shoulder, white cartons in hand and stomachs filled with delicious food. Killian could sense Emma’s relaxation radiating off of her, coming off in gentle exhales.

“I’m glad you stayed,” Killian admitted. His eyes stayed glued on his fork searching around for tiny pieces of chicken lingering at the bottom of his take-out box.  

“Me too.” Emma set her empty container on the table in front of them. “Do you want to talk about what happened?”

“A woman violated our client-therapist agreement which resulted in her permanent removal from my services. What else is there to talk about?”

“And you’re okay?” Emma placed a comforting hand on his knee, a touch that seemed to pull the answer right from his lips. 

“Yeah,” he said on a breathy exhale. “I think I’m okay.”

Any sourness left over from the incident earlier was erased away minute by minute as Emma put his favorite indie movie on the TV. As gentle acoustic music played behind the opening of the film, Killian leaned his head into her lap, cheek nuzzling up with the soft fabric of her long skirt.

And maybe Killian’s heart raced as Emma threaded her fingers through his hair and scratched at his scalp. Maybe her touch was just what he needed to send away everything nasty he’d been carrying, leaving room for her comforting presence in his heart. He nearly suggested that she become a cuddle therapist herself, but the very thought of her hands on someone else sent a recoiling scowl down his face.  

If Killian Jones was developing a crush on Emma Swan, then no one needed to know. It would probably go away before anything could become of it.

 

* * *

 

Except that it didn’t. If anything, Killian’s growing infatuation was only getting in the way of his work. He’d have a lonely widower in his arms, but find himself aching for her touch. His routine of massages was muddled with the thought of her creamy skin and lovely smile.

It didn’t help that Emma started scheduling appointments for twice a week, rather than their usual single consultation. She even had a habit of popping over when she knew he wasn’t busy and visiting as a friend, rather than a client.

Eventually, their dynamic shifted without any spark or prompting. It was organic, their relationship growing in a way that friendships do when the people and the conditions are right. It started as timid text messages - _Would you care to come over for pizza tonight? I rented_ Back to the Future. - and shifted into Emma’s sporadic visits after his business hours. She did occasionally schedule an appointment with Killian the Professional rather than just popping over to see Killian the Friend, especially when she had some extra money saved and work was wearing her down. 

It was good. It worked.

Killian blamed habit of routine for the way they always ended up tangled together in each other’s arms. 

 

* * *

 

“How many sessions does this make?” Emma murmured into Killian’s chest one day. They’d been laying like this on his couch for an hour, legs a tangled mess. There were few places she liked being more, held by her best friend while his fingers rubbed along her scalp.

“This isn’t even a real session,” he answers, his breath whisking through loose strands of her hair.  

There were certainly benefits to your best friend being a professional cuddler, Emma decided. For one, he was naturally affectionate. Gentle touches and warm hugs came easy to Killian, a talent Emma had always been glad she didn’t have. It was different now that she’d felt the comfort of his embrace, so she thought she’d make an exception. And boy, was she glad she did. From that day on, Emma spent the end of her stressful days in the company of a friend who genuinely cared about her, made her laugh until her stomach was in knots, and gave a damn good foot massage.  

Of course, there were also disadvantages.

Like the intrusive thoughts that Emma certainly did not ask for,  the ones that insisted that she was nothing special to Killian Jones and that he was only being nice to her to earn money off of her. Or worse, that he was just like every other guy she’d been with who always seemed to take advantage of her.  

The one thought that really kept her up at night, the one that she was most ashamed of, was the small tiny voice in her head that admitted that she was falling for him. Getting feelings for Killian was absolutely, under no circumstances, allowed. She’d signed the agreement and everything.

“Swan, if you think any louder the neighbors are going to start complaining.”  

Emma jolted a little in his arms, like she’d been caught doing something she wasn’t supposed to. Shaking her head, she leaned up to burrow her face into the side of his neck and muttered an unconvincing, “I’m fine.”

The hand weaving through her hair moved down her back, his fingers gliding over her skin. He was waiting for her to say it, because they both knew that something was wrong. There wasn’t any point in trying to hide it from him.

“Can I ask you something?” she asked in a low voice.

“Of course.” Killian held her in place as he shifted against the couch so that they could face each other. It was a tight fight on the small cushions, and Emma could smell the spearmint on his breath. It was his eyes that coaxed the question out of her, the way they didn’t judge or hold suspicion.  

“How many people do you do this with?”

Killian gaped at her. _Smooth, Emma_ she sneered at herself. _Real smooth._ He was careful to keep his expression fixed, though she swore she saw the slightest hint of offense dampening the light in his eyes.

“Do what, exactly?”  

“Spend time outside of consultations.”  

Killian sat up, taking Emma with him that she had nowhere else to look but at him. His brows furrowed, gaze intense. Running his hands down her arms, he locked their fingers and squeezed.

“I love each of my clients, and I like to think that I’m not just their therapist, but also their friend.” Emma opened her mouth to interrupt, take back the question, change the subject, forget that she even mentioned it _,_ but he stopped her. “The people that visit me all have their own lives, their own friends, their own families. Many of them are embarrassed to admit they see a professional cuddler, so they leave me separate from their real lives.”

“Does that bother you?” she asked.

“No. People don’t keep in contact with their chiropractors or dentists, I don’t expect them to treat me differently.”

“But I’m different?”

A smile broke on his lips. “Very.” 

Emma could feel the heat rushing to her cheeks as he grinned at her. All her life she’d been ordinary Emma. Nothing special to her foster parents. Nothing special to her teachers. Nothing special in general. But to be different to Killian Jones felt _good._

“So, when people ask me what my best friend does for a living...”  

Just when Emma thought that his smile couldn’t get wider, he proved her wrong with a grin that sent butterflies to her stomach.

“You tell them he’s a professional cuddler. Trust me, the reactions are priceless.”

 

* * *

 

Life with Emma Swan was great.  

It was what they both needed: something reliable, something familiar and routine. They spent their time together at his apartment because _Killian, I’m poor and the apartment is the size of a walk-in closet._ And when he wasn’t convinced - _Fine, it’s because you have that fantastic bean bag that I would give my left kidney for._  

She always brought food, whether a full meal from that surprisingly good chinese place down a few blocks, or just a few brown bags of groceries. Somehow they always ended up tangled up together, watching YouTube videos or one of those Netflix series which _can’t actually be that good,_ and turns out an all-time favorite.  

Sometimes he played guitar while she chopped vegetables in the kitchen. And other times she added songs to their joint Spotify playlist (appropriately named “untitled” because Emma wouldn’t allow any of the other ridiculous names he’d suggested) that she just knew he’d be playing on repeat for the next week.

And when he was having a really shitty day, she brought Captain Morgan. That was how he knew she was his best friend. He didn’t even have to say anything, the bottle would already be in his hands.

It had been eight months since their unlikely friendship began. Had it not been for his constant stream of clients - who valued their privacy - in and out of the apartment, he’d have already asked her to move in. Once Killian’s last appointment ended for the day, she was there and really only ever went home to sleep.

“Just because you live somewhere doesn’t make it home, Killian. My apartment is like living in a graveyard. There’s no life. At least your apartment has ferns.”

“Aye, love, well I’m glad my ferns keep you coming every day.” His chest tightened as he wondered where exactly she considered home to be. If he had any other job, he could just allow her permanently into his life, whatever that meant. Instead, Emma would continue to pay her rent and sleep in her own bed, but eat her meals at his table.  

“Can I schedule another appointment?” she asked through a mouthful of fried rice, chopsticks digging around the white take out carton hidden shrimp. Killian blinked a few times.

“Did something happen at work?” Emma shrugged, not in the mood to elaborate. Lately, it wasn’t often that she kept things to herself. He was glad to help her, though, even if it was as a professional before it was as a friend. Finally he said, “Yes, I have openings, but I’m not going to ask you to pay me. That’d be ridiculous.”  

“Why? If you were an artist, and I wanted you to paint something for me, you’d still ask for a commission. You’re a businessman who has to work for a living.” 

“Oh, now you’re making me sound like a white-collar.” He paused for a second. “You’re adamant about this?” If she wanted to hire him once more, then who was he to deny her?

“Alright, love. How’s Wednesday at noon?”  

* * *

 

It began like it always did, Emma standing in front of his apartment dressed in comfortable clothes. Her fingers tapped mindlessly against her hip while she fought the urge to check her watch for the fourth time.  

It felt almost the same way it did that first appointment when she didn’t know who he was or what to expect. But this was _Killian,_ her best friend of all people! He was the most predictable thing in her life, the one who never expected more than she could give, the one who always could read her as easily as one of the books on his shelf. When she was wrapped in his arms, there was no place in the world that was safer.  

That was all she’d ever wanted since she was a little girl, and she had long since given up hope that she would ever find it. But it had happened, after almost twenty-eight years it had finally happened.

She couldn’t even thoroughly enjoy it because she was falling in love with him. Emma scoffed. Who was she kidding? The falling had already happened. The falling had sent her plummeting toward over a cliff where she crash landed, head way over her heels.

Emma couldn’t help it, she glanced down at her watch and saw that he was thirteen minutes past noon. She frowned. Killian always had his clients in and out very promptly, and she was positive he was supposed to have someone in there with him. Tugging at the bottom of her sweater, Emma decided to wait for a few more minutes.

Five minutes passed and no one exited the apartment. Killian hadn’t even gone out to check to see if she was there, so she knocked lightly. The next moments were agonizing, the anticipation of seeing him making it difficult to breathe. But he never came. She checked to make sure she had the right apartment - of course she did, she practically lived here- and that she had no messages on her phone. Trying the handle, Emma discovered the apartment was open. First she peeked in to see if Killian had just lost track of time with a client on the beanbag, but the apartment was empty.

“Killian?” she called out. Entering the apartment, she dropped her purse and keys on the counter. “Killian, are you home?”  

No response. Okay, that was different. Killian was _always_ home to be available for potential walk-ins. Emma padded through the apartment, noticing the minute differences in its condition. There were dishes in the sink, a half full mug of cold coffee beside the stove, and a dirty plate sitting on the end table beside the couch. Killian was never the type not to not pick up after himself.

She searched the apartment for signs of him, but he wasn’t in his bathroom or in his bedroom. Just as she pulled out her phone to call him, she heard a cough from outside the window.  

What was he doing on the _fire escape?_

Emma peered out of the open window and found him sitting on one of the metal stairs, a flask at his lips.  

“I’ve never known to you do drink,” she called out.

Killian’s head snapped down at her and for a second his eyes looked right through her, dazed and confused. Reality dawned on him as the fog in his gaze cleared. With a quick glance at his watch, he groaned.  

“Gods, Swan, I totally forgot. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” It wasn’t just an apology, Emma noticed. It had an unsettling amount of self-loathing and grief. Emma leaned over the windowsill, letting the cool fall breeze cut through her hair. “Just maybe not today.”

“Are you alright?” she asked. His response was an ashamed look at his flask. “Mind if I come up, then?” 

Killian shook his head.

Emma settled herself just below him, sitting parallel to the stair with her knees to her chest. Killian mirrored the way she sat so that he could look at her.

 “So, are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” she asked. His fingers fidgeted around the curve of the flask.

 “I saw something earlier that reminded me of my brother,” he stated simply, if not a bit sad. Emma blinked, attempting to keep hide her surprise.

 “I didn’t know you have a brother.”

Now that she thought about it, Emma knew next to nothing about his family. She’d never asked before to avoid answering any questions about her own family, but it was different now. She was ready to open up if he was.

 “His name was Liam,” Killian finally admitted quietly. “He was the man who raised me, the one who fed me and sent me to school each day. But he was my role model too. Everything I learned about being an honorable man, he taught me.”

 “What happened?” Emma asked. The muscles in his jaw clenched, the tension making his hand clench around the flask. When his sea blue eyes began to glisten, she wondered if maybe she shouldn’t have asked at all.

 “He passed away,” he stated simply. “A boat accident five years ago. He was supposed to be repairing it, but there was a gas leak. The engine sparked and well...Anyways, there was an incident down at the harbor last night and when I saw it on the news, I guess I realized I wasn’t entirely done grieving.”

Emma waited as he took a swig of the rum and let the alcohol ease the ache of remembering. She didn’t know what to say. Her own experience with tragedy made her sure that he didn’t want any pity, but she didn’t want to discount the strength it took to talk about it.

 “You’re an amazing man, Killian Jones,” she finally said. The warmth in her eyes matched her sweet tone, and Emma hoped it told him just how proud she was of him. “This world is a brighter place with you in it.”

Then she leaned her head on his knee, stroking his hand with a soft touch. Killian remained silent, letting the atmosphere between them whisper all the things he couldn’t say to her. The shaky squeeze of his hand said _thank you,_ the tiny smile on his lips hummed _I’m a better man when I’m with you,_ and his tender gaze spoke the message that he hoped she couldn’t hear. _I’m falling in love with you._

Emma didn’t stay for her appointment. Instead, she turned on his favorite music, warmed up some leftover mac and cheese, and let him spend the rest of the night with himself. He was thankful. Any other time he would’ve wanted her to stay, but this last ounce of healing was something he needed to do alone.

 Besides, if he needed her, she’d only be a phone call away.

 

* * *

 

Two days went by before Emma heard from him again. She had just woken up, her hair still a mess atop her head and a steaming coffee in hand, when her phone buzzed. 

 **_Killian [8:47am] -_ ** _My apartment, 5pm, come hungry._

 ** _Killian [8:47am] -_** _This is a real appointment, but don’t even think about paying. I owe you one._  

 **_Emma [8:49am] -_ ** _Sounds like I’m seeing my best friend AND a professional cuddlist tonight. I’ll be there._

She was three minutes late to knocking on the door. From the hallway she could smell the aroma of something sweet in the oven, traces of cinnamon and apple reaching her senses. When the door swung open, she was greeted by a Killian Jones who looked like his few days alone had done him some good. There was a new life in his eyes, an excitement to go through with whatever he had planned for her.

“Sorry I’m late,” she said casually when he was frozen in the doorframe with a grin.

“Nonsense, we’ve all evening. Come on in.”   

“How would you like to start, Master Cuddler?” Emma asked, starting to feel her nerves prickle in anticipation as he rushed into action.

“You can start by getting comfortable. Is a massage okay with you?” he asked, his voice taking the warm tonality of his professional self. When she nodded, he laid some soft towels across the couch. “I don’t really have a massage table, but I hear the couch works just as well.”

Standing across from him not knowing quite what to do, Emma crossed her arms in front of her and watched as he pulled a basket of candles from the cupboard. She’d never gotten a massage from him before, only at fancy spa getaways (which were also gifts from her mother). Unlike the other places she’d been, she didn’t plan on stripping out of all of her clothes. Instead, she pulled off her sweater, leaving her in her leggings and cami.

“I need to go grab a few things, but you can lay down on your stomach and get cozy.”   

Emma did as she was told, feeling her body relax into the soft cushions of his couch. Her mind, on the other hand, raced at a million miles a minute. Had she known he planned for a _massage,_ she definitely wouldn’t have agreed to coming tonight. How could she ask him to touch her in a borderline intimate way when she was developing feelings for him? Before now, she’d been good about hiding her romantic affections, especially from herself.

Folding her arms under her chin, Emma frowned. This was a doomed situation if she ever heard of one. She should probably just run while she has the chance.

Killian came back before  the instinct to flee could grow too strong. There was a bounce in his step, like he was excited to do this with her for real. At the very least, the melancholy from earlier seemed to have faded. She watched as he lit candles, plugged in the space heater, and pressed play on his stereo.

“Are you alright, love?”

Emma bit the inside of her cheek. Was she that transparent?  

“Yeah, why?” Killian didn’t answer. He simply knelt in front of her and brushed some hair out of her face.

“Just checking,” he said gingerly. “As always, stop me if you get uncomfortable. It’s just a basic massage, though. No funny business.”

 Emma would’ve chuckled, but as he settled into position, the only thing her brain could process was his comforting smile. Killian instructed to relax her arms so that they settled at her sides. With one last confirmation of her consent, he began his work.

The silence between them was comfortable, filled with the hum of ambient electronic instrumental music. She could tell Killian was in full concentration mode as he worked, rubbing his hands together so that the friction would warm them up.

Killian started with her feet. He’d given her foot massages before, but not quite like this. His hands pressed into the soles of her feet slowly, urging the tension to release and relax the muscles. The nerves all over her body vibrated even though his focus was latched onto rubbing her feet. Chills erupted up her leg when his hands moved to knead her calves, each slow pull of his hands completely unwinding her.

As his hands worked into her leg muscles and nerves, Emma felt the passage of time slow to a halt. It was the first time in _years_ she’d felt so at peace, so safe and well-taken care of. When he was sure all the tension in her legs was gone, he trailed his palms up to her spine where he massaged her unhurried and tender. Smooth palms over her back alternated with his fingernails as he scratched in gentle circles.  

Emma bit her lip to keep from vocalizing how marvelous she felt. But it wasn’t just the massage itself. He caressed her with such reverence, as if she were precious treasure in his hands. All she wanted was for this to continue forever, to always be free to feel his worshipping hands on her skin, to hear his breath in her ear. She wanted it indefinitely.  

And that scared the hell out of her.  

There were many things she expected to feel during this, but fear wasn’t one of them. Shouldn’t she have felt glad that he cared for her, respected her? After all, he was the only person she’d met in a long time who wanted to do something like this for her.  

“Are you alright?” he asked, noticing how she seemed to have tensed up. She hummed in response, unable to lie to him. But he knew her well, and he removed his hands, and instructed her kindly to “Sit up, love.”

She complied, hands folding nervously in her lap.

“Can I keep going?” he asked.

“Of course! But only if you want to.” He frowned, and she was quick to explain herself. “I wasn’t sure if I did something wrong or-”

“No! Never. I was wondering, myself, if I had done something to make you uncomfortable.” He was so good to her, always paying such detailed attention to her reactions.  

“Killian, I’m fine. This has probably shaved ten years of stress off of me.”

He began again, this time closer. With her sitting up, he had better access to her shoulders. Warm puffs of his breath ghosted her neck as he dug his fingers into her shoulder blades. His touch emitted even more veneration than before, as if his concentration was well honed to perform his best work.

When his fingers reached her hair, she leaned back into his touch. The man was too talented for his own good, fingernails scratching along her scalp bringing sensations that distracted her from her fears. She could feel his chest pressed against her back, the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed calming her down. 

His touch began to slow, becoming fainter as he brought the massage to a close. Emma sat frozen, unsure if he was really finished, because his hands still rested on her shoulder.  

The next events passed like a hazy vision, her mind blurry with fogginess, but nerves aware of every touch.  

There was silence, and then his lips pressed against her shoulder. Emma turned rigid the same second he did, both of them stunned into stillness. Killian immediately pulled his hands off of her, swallowing as he skirted a few inches away from her. Emma turned and sucked in a breath of air. He was closer than she thought, far enough away to give her space to breathe, close enough that he was within reaching distance.  

The spot on her shoulder he had kissed still burned sweet, and she craved more. This was new territory, ground they hadn’t traveled yet. He was just Killian now, the professional cuddler dissolving as desire filled his eyes. Just as she was about to reach for him _,_ he leaned forward and took her cheek in one of his palms.

Killian opened his mouth to say something, but the words wouldn’t come. They hung in the intensity of his eyes, their meaning just out of reach. Maybe she didn’t know about him, but Emma knew what she wanted. She tilted forward just a fraction, the movement so slight she doubted he noticed it.

Something in his gaze sparked, and that was it.

Before she could register the decision on his face, he was kissing her. Emma’s mind numbed of all sense and awareness, overwhelmed by the soft way his lips were pressed to hers. He tasted sweet, like refuge and acceptance. Her hands grasped at his shirt, seeking an anchor.

When she lifted her arms around his neck, the kiss dissolved into a search for the other’s touch, needing to soothe the ache to bring the other closer.

And just when she was starting to think that she could do this forever - kiss him, hold him - a voice spoke to her loud enough that she could hear it over the roaring in her ears. _He’s using you._ Emma kissed Killian harder, as if the intensity would hinder her walls from rising. _Just wait. He’s not going to want you after this._

Right on cue, Killian tore away.  

He looked as stunned as she felt, chest heaving, cheeks flushed.

“That was a mistake,” he murmured, shooting to his feet and clenching his fists. “A really bad mistake. I shouldn’t have even _considered-”_  

Emma stared at him, utterly horrified. Was it that bad? Was it so appalling to even consider wanting her?

“I’ve gone three years without the thought even crossing my mind, much less acted on it,” he rambled, pacing across the floor. “But this....you...”  

The man was unraveling and she was the cause. Maybe that was what she wanted, but not like this.

Suddenly, Killian’s pacing halted. He took a fortifying breath before turning to look at her with a composure that meant that the professional was back, masking what he was really feeling.

“That was completely, utterly inappropriate and I am so sorry.” 

“No, I’m the one that’s sorry. I put you in this weird position by scheduling an appointment and then I gave into the moment.” Killian shook his head, like the fact that she was feeling guilty was something he wanted to extinguish. “I just really, _really_ don’t want this to ruin your career.”  

He heard the silent _or our friendship._  

And out of all the things he could’ve said, she wasn’t surprised when he murmured in a quiet voice, “I hope you’ll understand when I tell you that I can’t accept you as one of my clients anymore.”  

Emma expected as much, but it still ached to her core to hear the words spoken aloud. He wanted nothing to do with her, and she was senseless and shortsighted to think that anything would change.  

But she wasn’t going to let him see her cry, so she rose to her feet, grabbed her shirt, and headed toward the door.  

“Where are you going?” he called out, voice rough.

“You’re absolutely right, Killian. About all of it,” she said weakly. “I should probably just go.”

Killian’s blood ran cold as he got the slightest feeling that when she vanished out of his front door, she was leaving for good.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on Tumblr as the-reason-to-sail-home!


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